


It's just a t-shirt

by these_dreams_go_on



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy and Clarke are both disasters at romance, Bellarke, F/M, Internet bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/these_dreams_go_on/pseuds/these_dreams_go_on
Summary: KM: Clarke's curves make her a plus size model and people are not nice. Bellamy is an actor who sees people hating on a model who brought some merchandise for one of his charities. He decides to meet her as a surprise and she's gorgeous.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 404
Collections: The 100 Kinkmeme Round 2020





	1. Chapter 1

  
It began over a t-shirt.

  
Made from recycled fabric in a small, eco-friendly shop in California.

  
Bellamy had overseen every step of the process to ensure everything was ethically sourced and made.

  
Octavia had demanded final say over the design because ‘You have zero taste, Bell. If it wasn’t for me, you’d live in the same three shirts and jeans.’

  
But he’d been happy once they were done.

  
A navy t-shirt, one in men’s cut and one in woman’s, with the hundred white lines scattered across the front and back at various angles.

  
Bellamy had come up with design himself, although Octavia demanded credit because she was the one who had got the idea in the first place.

  
When he was nineteen and just starting out in modelling, his anxiety attacks had still been bad enough that he’d lost entire days to hiding away in his bedroom, emerging at  
random times to make sure his little sister was okay.

  
Octavia had found an article in some women’s magazine that had since gone out of print that had suggested trying to make positive changes in life that would last one week at a time.

  
But she had always been impatient and had lied telling him it was one hundred days.

  
When he’d become famous enough as an actor that charities and not-for-profits started contacting him for support, he’d chosen to work with Dropship. An organisation that campaigned to provide support for juvenile delinquents.

  
His campaign was to design and sell a hundred t-shirts in a competition to raise awareness- and funds- for the mental health team at Dropship.

  
It had been a huge success if he did say so himself.

  
The t-shirts had only been thirty dollars each but with other donations, they’d raised ten thousand dollars in a weekend and the hashtag #Dropshirt (not his idea) had been trending on twitter.

  
And perhaps if Bellamy understood twitter a little better, he would never have found out.

  
But he had been deep in the tag, smiling to himself when he’d come across the tweets.

  
  
@bblakeswive ‘OMG I can’t believe that she ‘won’ a shirt, that bitch totes cheated.’ #dropshirt

@bblakeswive ‘She should give it back’ #dropshirt

  
  


It took Bellamy a few moments to realize that these were replies to another tweet and he’d had to tap his screen a few times before he found the original post.

  
A photo of one of his shirts on top of the box it had been delivered in with the letter from Dropship thanking the receiver for their support and asking them to use the tag and post to social media. 

  
@ClarkeGriffin: So happy that I won one of these! An important cause with a great message. #dropshirt #mentalhealth #nfp

  
  
To Bellamy, it didn’t look any different than any of the other posts that had been made by any of the other winners, although most of them had shown themselves wearing the shirt.

  
But as far as he’d seen, the other posts had been followed with replies and comments congratulating the winner.

  
The first comment on this one was disgusting.

  
  
@topbbfan: OMFG you fat bitch your to big 4 that shirt

  
  
The other comments weren’t much better.

  
His fans, the people who’d always showered him with love and praise when he opened up about his mental health, about the racism he’d faced throughout his life, who’d agreed with him when he’d condemned bullying in all its forms were now heaping abuse on this woman.

  
Fat-shaming her, accusing her of having cheated in the competition- which had been a random selection- some suggesting she’d traded sex for one of the shirts, calling her all sorts of derogatory names and even using a hashtag #grossgriffin

  
When he reaches the comments telling her to kill herself, Bellamy’s hands are shaking so bad that he drops his phone and stumbles to the bathroom in case he’s going to throw up.

  
He’s still sweating and taking shaky breaths when he sits at his desk, opening his laptop, his fingers trembling as he holds them over the keys.

  
He and his sister used many different messaging services. Facebook messenger was for sharing news articles, whatsapp was for arguments, texting was for immediate responses and email was how they communicated for work purposes.

  
Usually when he called her, he did it on his phone, but he couldn’t face the idea of picking up that device right now, thankfully, he’d learnt how to use skype.

  
He waits impatiently, his right leg jiggling up and down until the ringtone stops and Octavia’s face appears on screen. She’s looking down at the phone and he can see trees above her.

  
“I can’t believe I actually get a connection out here,” she pants, “Two years ago, I couldn’t even get reception for an emergency call.”

  
Shit, she must be on a hike. Hours away and not able to help him fix this mess.

  
“O…” he blurts out, “We have a problem.”

  
She frowns down at the screen and then he gets a glimpse of dirt trail and bushes before she returns it to her face, and he sees that she’s leaning against a tree. 

  
“Okay breathe,” she instructs, “Whatever it is, we can handle it but first I want you to breathe.”

  
He understands the logic behind what she’s saying but he shakes his head because she doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation.

  
“It’s the competition,” he tells her, “One of the winners’ is getting abused and people are telling her to kill herself…”

  
He breaks off and takes three deep breaths, “We have to make them stop…I need to say something or release a statement making them stop...”

  
“Bell,” she interrupts sharply, “Inhale, count to ten and exhale.”

  
It seems to take forever but eventually, he stops shaking and aside from the sudden onset of exhaustion, his brain feels clear.

  
“Okay,” Octavia says, the image shifting as she begins walking again, “Now, I can put a statement on your account reminding people what the competition was about and that you’re against all forms of bullying. Do you remember the winner’s name?”

  
Her name?

  
Her name…

  
Honestly, everything was a jumbled up mess of vile messages and cruelty.

  
He gets a view of his sister’s chin as she begins typing on her phone and finds what she’s looking for faster than he ever could.  
  
  
“Never mind, I found it…assuming there was only one.”

  
Oh God, what if there’d been more than one person attacked?

  
What had he _done?_

  
“Well, she’s deactivated her twitter, so she won’t be getting anymore abuse there at least.”

  
Bellamy’s cheeks burned with shame, “I…do you think I should apologise?”

  
She sighs, “This isn’t your fault, Bell, but if you want, I’ll get her details so you can send her a letter.”

  
A letter.

  
He manages a weak smile at the reminder of just how well his sister knew him.

  
“Thanks, O.”

  
“Yeah, yeah…you old nerd.”

* * *

  
Three days later, Bellamy is deep in his scripts for the next season of Everyday Magic- and highlighting all the scenes where he’s supposed to be shirtless for Octavia to kick up a fuss over, she’d put it in his contract that under no circumstances would he dehydrate himself for nude or shirtless scenes- when his sister lets himself into his house.

  
“Got it.” she calls as she heads straight to his fridge, and he listens to her rummaging around, helping herself to his food.

  
“Hello to you too.” he grumbles, not bothering to look up until she appears on his balcony and he has a six seater lounge setting but she plops herself down on his legs, pretending they aren’t there even as he tries to kick her off.

  
“I had Monty spend way too much time trawling through social media to find all negative reactions and comments to the competition and aside from some pettiness, it seems that the only winner who got major hate was one Clarke Griffin.”

  
Clarke.

  
That was her name.

  
He feels a sense of relief ease the tension in his shoulders.

  
“For what it’s worth,” Octavia continues, “You weren’t the reason she was getting online hate, she’s a plus-sized model who’s also bisexual, she’s been chased off social media before,”

  
“And…” she adds, when he opens his mouth to argue, “She’s actually handling the situation pretty well. She reactivated her twitter, tweeted a link to that speech you gave on internet bullies and posted a photo to Instagram of her wearing the shirt drinking champagne at a hotel in Times Square.”

  
He chuckles and doesn’t bother fighting as she snatches the script from him, “I also have her manager’s details for when you’ve finished the letter,” she mutters, flipping through the pages,

  
“Turns out she’s a fan of yours, so maybe include an autograph as well?”

  
A fan?

  
“Maybe I could meet her then?” he suggests before he’s even thought it through. “Get some photos so people who like me stop hating on her?”

  
Octavia leans back against the lounge and snorts, “You think photos of her meeting _you_ is going to stop your rabid fans from hating on her?”

  
He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know…if they know I’m aware of the situation, they’ll stop sending her abuse?”

  
While Octavia’s thinking it over, she’s distracted enough that he can lift his legs and push her along the lounge, away from him and she flicks his foot, knowing that he’s ticklish and hates it.

  
“Sure,” she decides, leaning away as he attempts to retaliate, “It’ll be good press for you too, I’ll even make it a surprise to really make it special for her.”

* * *

One Week Later.

Text Message

  
_Bellamy: Fuck_

_Octavia: Shit_

_Bellamy: O!_

_Octavia: Are we not just randomly swearing at each other?_

_Bellamy: No_

_Bellamy: I just saw Clarke Griffin_

_Octavia: And you’ve already screwed up?_

_Octavia: That’s a record breaker, even for you._

_Bellamy: I haven’t spoken to her yet._

_Octavia: So you’re just standing there staring at her and texting me?_

_Octavia: Creep_

_Bellamy: She hasn’t seen me yet_

_Octavia: See my last message_

_Bellamy: She’s gorgeous_

_Octavia: Are you just texting me your thought processes right now?_

_Octavia: Because I have shit to do today_

_Bellamy: You didn’t tell me she’d be so beautiful_

_Octavia: ???_

_Octavia: You’re_

_Octavia: *You’re upset because I didn’t tell you that the MODEL would be pretty?_

_Octavia: And people always thought you were the smart Blake_

_Bellamy: She’s not just pretty, O_

_Octavia: K_

_Octavia: I’m walking away from this before it becomes a full-fledged disaster._

_Octavia: Metaphorically and literally._

_Bellamy: O- Message not received._

Taking a moment to regret that his mom had decided to have a second child, Bellamy tucked his phone into his pocket and took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose to be as quiet as possible.

  
Why the hell had he thought this would be a good idea?

  
Why hadn’t he done some research first?

  
Bellamy wasn’t a stranger to attractive people; he’d started off modelling and his show was on the CW network which was known for favouring looks over acting ability.

  
Hell, he lived in L.A where it seemed everyone was trying their best to be hot all the time.

  
But Clarke Griffin…

  
It wouldn’t have killed him to check her Instagram before turning up to the café where Octavia had arranged for her to meet a ‘Dropship representative’.

  
He knew it was her because she’d made a reservation and the waiter had pointed her out to him.

  
She was sitting back against a couch, the menu in one hand as she scrolled through her phone with the other. She was wearing the t-shirt paired with black leather pants and heeled boots.

  
And he would never be able to look at those t-shirts again without thinking of that outfit.

  
Deep breath.

  
When he gets closer, she looks up and her eyes are such an astonishing blue that he stops dead in his tracks, able to mark the exact moment that she recognises him.

  
A blush blooms across her face and she drops her gaze, pretending to be focused on her phone before sneaking another peek at him and raising her head in clear surprise when he continues making his way towards her.

  
God he hoped she wasn’t disappointed.

  
“Clarke Griffin?” he asks, unnecessarily but he doesn’t know what else to say right now.

  
Plus, she has a beautiful smile.

  
“Well, I suppose you technically are a Dropship representative.” she offers by way of greeting and he chuckles, taking a seat when she shifts on the couch to make room for him.

  
“I wanted to meet you,” he begins, “I felt bad about what happened with the competition and how some of my fans reacted.”

  
“Yeah,” she nods, “Tumblr is calling it t-shirt-gate, but you’re sweet,” she continues, looking up at him through her eyelashes,

  
“Almost makes me feel bad about how much I’ve been showing this off.”

  
She tugs on the hem and he glances down before his brain registers the mistake and short circuits.

  
Not before he got a glimpse of her cleavage though.

  
By some act of divine mercy, a waiter appears and takes their coffee orders and Bellamy reminds himself that he’d been paid money to act as a normal person many times so he could handle this.

  
“So, how’d you get into modelling?” he asks, and she giggles,

  
“I’m an art major at UCLA,” she explains, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I model so I can afford to pursue what I love.”

  
Beautiful and creative.

  
He was going to kill Octavia for not having warned him.

  
They’re trading names of people they’d worked with, trying to find common connections and bitching about some of the downsides to modelling when their drinks arrive, and Bellamy remembers that he’d planned on getting a photo with her.

  
Of course, they have to shift closer together to fit in the frame and Bellamy slings his arm around her shoulders as she leans in against him.

  
He has one of those phone cameras that takes hundreds of photos with one press of the button and then chooses the best ones for him. So it takes less than three minutes and afterwards he knows logically that he should probably remove his arm from around her shoulders, but between his brain and the necessary muscles was a protest being lodged by the sensation of her body pressed up against his.

  
Strands of her hair tickle his fingers, she’s warm and she smells good.

  
She’s also not making any effort to move away from him either, the blush is back in her cheeks and Bellamy is very aware that he’s in the right position to get a good look down her shirt.

  
Which he won’t.

Even though he _really_ wants to.

  
“I have to admit,” she begins, biting her lip, “I’m a huge fan of you... _your acting_ , I’m trying really hard to be cool right now.”

  
Oh.

  
She wanted him too.

  
That changed everything.

  
He’s grinning as he uses his hand to brush her hair back, ducking his head,

  
“I have to admit,” he murmurs in her ear, feeling her shudder against him, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  
“Oh.” She breathes, turning her head just enough that he can brush his lips against hers.

  
He tries not to hate how cheesy it is that he feels sparks when he kisses her. 

  
They trade gentle kisses, unhurried even as his hand cups her shoulder and hers rubs his thigh,

  
“How about now?” she asks, leaning back just enough so that she can speak,

  
“Now?” he echoes, nudging his nose against hers, “I want to take off your clothes and do dirty things to you that would get us arrested for public indecency.”

  
Her hand slides up his thigh and ghosts over his crotch, feeling his cock beginning to harden.

  
“My place or yours?”

  
He grins, “Mine is closer.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just sex.

Bellamy liked to consider himself a gentleman.

Usually, when he brought someone home, he liked to offer them a drink first.

But from the moment they got into the uber, Bellamy hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Clarke.

For the sake of the underpaid driver in the front, he’d kept it limited to kissing her lips and touching her knee but once they were out of the car, all bets were off.

He presses her up against the front door, kissing her fiercely and she grips his shirt to pull him even closer. He grunts into her mouth as he feels his body against her soft curves, he holds her with one arm and uses his free hand to scramble for his wallet with the key pass.

He waves it in the general direction of the key pad a few times before he hears the answering ding and they tumble into the lobby, laughing as they stagger to catch their feet.

Grabbing her hand, he tugs her to the elevator banks, and she presses her lips along his upper arm while he repeatedly presses the button, nipping at his shoulder and he’d take the stairs if he wasn’t on the third floor.

Thankfully, the elevator is empty so he can kiss his way down her neck as his hands slip down to grip the round curves of her ass. 

And hear the ding of the elevator bell way too soon.

  
“You didn’t press the button.” Clarke chuckles, breaking off into a gasp as he rocks his denim clad erection against her.

“You’re closer than me,” he breathes against her neck, still grinding against her, “Three.”

  
She tries to reach for the wall and when she can’t reach, and the doors open again, she reluctantly pushes away from him to press the button.

Which gives him a moment to run his hands through his hair and adjust himself a little.

The skin on her neck is red from his mouth and her hair is already messy, her lips are swollen and while she looks gorgeous in that shirt of his, he really, really wants her naked already.

Has the elevator always been this slow?

She giggles as he pulls her back against him, his hands on her hips as he buries his nose in her hair and one hand reaches around to start playing with the button on her pants,

  
“These will have to go,” he mumbles, “Along with everything else you’re wearing.”

“You first,” she retorts as the doors finally open on the right floor and he squeezes her ass once more before they step out. “Which one’s yours?”

  
You are.

He thinks to himself impulsively before glancing up and down the hall, momentarily forgetting where he actually lived. He has to take his hands off her to get his door open and even those few seconds have him itching for her.

They’re barely across the threshold before she kicks the door shut and leans against it, spinning him around by his hand so they can kiss again, his tongue in her mouth and his hands running to all the parts of her body he can reach. 

  
“God…I have to get you naked,” he pants in her ear, “Now!”

  
She grins and watches as he leans back to unbutton her pants, pushing them down an inch before seeing that she’s still wearing her shoes and switches to her t-shirt.

She holds up her arms as he lifts it off her, shaking her hair out and he’s distracted by that before he catches the sight of the green strap on her shoulder and follows it down.

His brain short circuits for an undefined length of time as he stares at her breasts.

He’d never really been fixated on breasts before, just registered them as another part of the female form and been as sexually attracted to them as he had been to a woman’s face or her ass.

But he’d never seen Clarke’s breasts.

They were still mostly hidden by her bra but the parts of them he could see, he definitely liked.

She shifted under his gaze, snapping him out of it and he sees her pressing her legs together, reminding him that he wasn’t the only one ready to go.

He kisses her again and tries to unbutton his shirt with one hand while using the other to stroke her hair back from her face.

It would have been a complete disaster if Clarke hadn’t also been interested in getting him naked.

She gets his shirt down to his arms and he tosses it somewhere out of the way as he starts leading her to his bedroom.

Except that he’s too distracted and his knees hit the back of his couch where he falls down with a thump and she chuckles before climbing onto his lap so she can keep kissing him, cupping his face in her hands. And this might not be what he had planned, but in this position, her breasts were level with his mouth so he’s definitely not complaining. He runs his hands up her thighs until he can grip the round curves of her ass and then up her back until he finds the hook of her bra.

He barely pulls the cups past her nipples before he kisses her left breast, sucking and laving it with his tongue while his hand squeezes the right globe, soft and heavy against his palm. She whimpers and he releases her breast only so he can reach down and teasingly run his fingers against the seam of her pants as she presses down searching for friction.

  
“Bedroom,” she gasps in his ear as he runs his tongue around her areola.

“Please.”

  
The part of Bellamy’s brain currently being ruled by his cock wanted to lodge a formal protest and just get Clarke naked on his couch, nearly winning him over with the argument that he could be inside her in less than a minute, but the tiny one percent of common sense still operating somewhere within him pointed out that there was a lot more room to move about in a bed.

Still, he releases her reluctantly, swallowing as he watches her breasts as she climbs to her feet.

  
“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” he groans, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear ducking her head as she smiles,

“Come on,” she holds out a hand, “Sooner we get to your room, the sooner these clothes can come off…” she finishes with a laugh as he jumps up, grasping her hand and tugging her along as she laughs until they reach his bedroom door.

  
He leaves it open, after all he lived alone and while he could press Clarke against it and do wicked things to her while standing up, it would be easier on both their backs if he did wicked things to her on his lumbar supportive mattress.

He settles for pulling her against him and she reaches up to steal a kiss from his lips before kissing her way down his jaw before sucking a sweet spot on his neck that had him seeing stars.

His hand cups her hair and wraps around her back while she grips his shoulders and he’s wondering why he’s still wearing pants. He turns them around and makes sure he’s judging the distance properly before he tilts her back onto the bed until gravity kicks in and she falls.

She immediately props herself up on her elbows and bites her bottom lip, smirking as he begins unbuttoning his pants. And he’s not one to brag but usually when he does the big reveal, he gets a compliment or some flirtatious line, but Clarke looks right past his dick to where his pants and boxers were hanging around his knees.

  
“We’re both still wearing shoes.” she points out gently and he glances down to see that she’s right.

  
This wasn’t going as well as he’d planned.

Although to be fair his plans had pretty much been- get naked and do sex. 

He drops down onto the bed beside her and bends down to unlace his sneakers before toeing them off while Clarke pulls her right foot onto her left knee and unlaces her boots.

He hopes that the speed with which he got his shoes off don’t paint him as a horn dog and he props his chin on Clarke’s shoulder as she shifts to her other boot.

  
“Those look complicated.” he teases, kissing a mole on her bare shoulder and she snorts,

“They are but they’re also comfortable and give me an extra inch of height.”

“You mean you’re even shorter than I thought?” he continues, and she turns to him with an arched eyebrow,

“Is this really where you want this to be headed?” she challenges and his eyes drop down to her breasts,

“Nope.” he answers quickly, shaking his head and she hums,

“I didn’t think so.”

  
When her shoes- and socks- were off, he tries to regain the passion of the moment by putting a hand down behind her and leaning in to kiss her. Except his legs encounter an obstacle and he glances down to remember that he’s still got his pants and boxers around his knees.

Losing his virginity had been less awkward than this.

Although in his defence, he hadn’t lost his virginity to a model with gorgeous breasts.

Clarke glances down at his jeans and back up with a wicked glint in her eye,

  
“Let me help.” She says, sliding off the bed and onto her knees and yeah, she does get his pants off but he didn’t notice because half a minute later she’s between his legs and running her tongue up the underside of his cock before swirling it around the tip and he can’t focus on anything else.

She squeezes him with her hand, takes him in her mouth and whatever part of his brain processes thoughts and words forgets how to function.

He’s not falling backwards, but that’s only because he’s got his hands behind him holding him up and if he moves, something disastrous will happen. Besides, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, he can’t take his eyes off Clarke as she laves his cock with her tongue, warm, wet and she hollows her cheeks and…

God, she’ll ruin him.

She does ruin him.

He feels the familiar sensation, the tension in the base of his spine and he reluctantly reaches down to stroke her temple, grabbing her attention.

  
“I’m gonna come.” he warns her, but she only winks at him, humming in acknowledgement before she continues and his eyes fall closed as he groans, shooting into her mouth in long, hot spurts.

He falls back onto the bed and runs a hand through his hair, trying to catch his breath as Clarke crawls up and lays down next to him, settling on her stomach and propping herself on an elbow.

  
“Hi,” she chuckles, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Having fun?”

  
He growls and slides an arm under her chest to close the few inches of space between them so he could kiss her. She rests her hand on his shoulder as they exchange lazy   
kisses, breaking away he gazes into her eyes.

  
“You’re beautiful.” he tells her, and she ducks her head smiling,

“I’m still overdressed.”

  
He glances down and sees her tanned skin disappeared into her black leather pants and while those tight pants were proof of god’s existence, he’d much rather get her naked.

He rolls them over and she squeaks in surprise, inhaling as he shifted onto his knees and slowly, teasingly pulled down the zip.

She’s wearing panties which surprises him because those pants had been skin-tight, so he hooks his fingers into both waistlines and tugs them down her body. He drops them off the side of the bed and places his hands on her ankles before sliding them up her bare legs, followed by his lips until he reaches her pussy- which he ghosts over- choosing to dip his tongue into her belly button.

There were red marks on her stomach from the pants and he gave quick kisses over them before he gave into temptation and took hold of her knees, bringing them up and pulling them apart so he could shift between them.

Her pussy was glistening from arousal and he reached down, running his thumb against her lips into the dark curls, making her moan and arch her hips.

He follows the trail of his thumb with his tongue and her hand tangles in his hair as he circles her clit, sucking on it gently as he slides two fingers into her pussy, easing in and stroking until he found the right spot to curl his fingers that had her whimpering and bucking against him.

He teases her, bringing her close to the edge before changing his pace a few times until she’s relaxed enough that he can fit three of his fingers inside her and her walls are fluttering around them. 

  
“You gonna come for me?” he asks, admiring the view of her breasts from his current position. 

“Uh huh,” she pants, one arm stretched behind her so she can grip the headboard, “God, I’m so close.”

  
Grinning, he ducks back down and runs his tongue against her clit, laving the little pearl roughly until she comes crying out and gushing around him. Not even bothering to hide his satisfied smirk, he pats her pussy and climbs up her body, propping himself above her as she tries to catch her breath, quivering with aftershocks.

He kisses her cheek and she turns her head, allowing him to capture her mouth and mix their tastes together. They exchange kisses as Clarke tries to catch her breath, and Bellamy feels his cock hardening again.

When he’s pressing against her thigh, he reaches over her to his bedside table for a condom and some lube. Clarke sits up against the pillows, eyeing him lustfully as he runs his hand up and down his dick until he’s erect and then she reaches over and plucks the foil package from his fingers.

  
“On your back,” she instructs, putting a hand on his shoulder and he allows her to roll him over, resting against the pillows as she straddles his thighs.

“I like to be on top,” she explains, taking the condom out and placing it on the tip of his penis and he’s about to roll it down before she gives him a wicked smile and does it for him.

  
Using her mouth and her fingers for the final inch and he knows he’s going to be seeing that in his dreams for a long time.

“Ready?” she asks and ‘Yes’ is the only word he’s still capable of using.

  
She groans and throws her head back as she sinks down onto his cock, running a hand through her hair and biting her lip as she bobs up and down, easing him in until she manages to get him in to the hilt.

Then she starts riding him with little twists of her hips that make him see stars, which would be amazing but all he wants to focus on is her beautiful face and her gorgeous breasts. He’s so transfixed by them that he almost forgets that this isn’t a spectator sport before his body takes over and his hips start thrusting up to meet her pace. He’s pretty weak willed at this point, so his hands grip her breasts, fondling them and pinching her nipples until they’re hard little pebbles. She gasps his name in parts, and her hips stutter before she regains control of herself and gives a breathy laugh,

  
“So we know my nipples are sensitive,” she hums, placing her hands on his stomach and pushing them up to his chest, “But what about yours?”

  
She circles them with her thumbs, flicking them and Bellamy nearly comes on the spot.

Which wouldn’t be a problem, except he damn well knows he can last a lot longer.

Besides, he wants to watch her fall apart again.

He focuses on his movements until her hand drops down to their hips, up to her clit which she begins rubbing frantically and he picks up his pace as she cries out, her walls clenching around his cock which brings him to his own climax.

Her hand slips on his sweaty skin and she topples onto him, knocking the breath out of him as she lands on his chest,

  
“Sorry.” she blurts quickly, pushing her hair out of her face as he chuckles and wraps an arm around her shoulders, resting his chin on her head,

“After everything you just let me do to you, it’s fine.”

“Pretty sure those were things we did to each other,” she points out, shifting to lie on her stomach beside him, breaking out of his hold and resting her head on her arms, “They were fun too.”

He grins and turns his head to face her, “Give me ten minutes and we can do them all over again.”

* * *

Text Message

  
_Octavia: You are officially unblocked_

_Octavia: So, do I need to tell Miller to prep for a restraining order being rushed through by her lawyers?_

_Bellamy: You’re adopted._

_Octavia: Tragically, I have seen video footage proving otherwise_

_Octavia: Seriously._

_Octavia: How bad did you screw up?_

_Bellamy: Well…we’re in bed together right now_

_Octavia: Is she there willingly?_

_Bellamy: Seems like it._

_Octavia: Okay._

_Octavia: Gross_

_Octavia: But good for you_

_Octavia: Never tell me anything like this again._


	3. Chapter 3

The water was pouring from the shower head, cascading down the clear glass and running over the tiles before swirling into the drain. It was a hot and steady current.

Which was problematic.

Because Clarke wasn’t currently in the shower.

She was standing in front of it, gripping either side of the closed door and moaning loudly as Bellamy fucked into her from behind.

One hand on her hip, one on her left breast, both of them squeezing her as he thrust deeper, rocking her body with the motions.

  
“So…gorgeous…” he panted, pressing a wet kiss to her shoulder blade, “Can’t…stop…”

  
Wasn’t that the truth?

They’d gone all afternoon and into the night, stopping only long enough to grab some water and snacks and then gone again.

At one point, Clarke had passed out and woken up to Bellamy’s head between her thighs, eating her out and she couldn’t even tell if it was the start of another round or the continuation of one.

They’d gone through Bellamy’s condoms until they were down to the last foil pack.

Worried about overstaying her welcome, Clarke had suggested she take a shower.

Bellamy had shown her the bathroom and she’d been so distracted by the image of him in the mirror that she’d dropped her towel and without thinking, bent over to pick it up.

He’d made it to the bedroom, grabbed the last condom and was ready to go before she could even test the water.

Which is how they’d got to where they were now.

  
She gasps as his fingers find her clit, tender from all the times he’d touched her, and he pulls back uncertainly.

  
“Don’t…stop,” she cries, grabbing his hand and moving it back, “Please…yes…”

  
Bellamy’s hips stutter and he drops his head onto her shoulder, groaning as he finishes, the fingers rubbing her clit shaking and stopping as he comes.

And Clarke isn’t expecting an orgasm- she’s exhausted by this point- but she’s pleasantly surprised when she has a climax.

Short, sweet and she barely loses her footing, only needing to grip the shower door a bit harder and lean against Bellamy for support.

She can still hear the water running and the part of her that cares about the environment and sustainability is shouting about wastage. But that part is ignored in favour of the hornier parts of her wishing she’d gone into pre-med after all so she’d know just how much more sex the two of them could have before it became physically dangerous.

Bellamy pulls out and she straightens up to turn and face him,

  
“I…uh…should probably let you shower.” He chuckles, glancing down as though embarrassed and he looks so adorable that she can’t resist stealing a kiss.

“I’d ask if you wanted to join me, but that’s probably not a good idea,” She replies, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing gently, backing him up enough that she could open the door and step underneath the spray.

  
She makes short work of getting clean because she knows she’s just getting back into yesterday’s clothes.

Except for her panties, she would leave them with Bellamy, but they aren’t sexy red lace, just utilitarian seam-free nude underwear stained with her arousal, so she tucks them into her clutch and laces up her boots.

  
“I should head off.” she announces, standing up from the bed and Bellamy, who’d been tapping away on his phone, nods awkwardly, “Okay.”

  
She thinks that will be it, he’ll walk her to his front door and then with a final goodbye, this fun adventure will be over. Except that he pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grabbing his wallet with the clear intent to follow her outside.

Weird.

She waits for him to lock up and then they meander to the elevator where they wait in awkward silence.

  
“Any uh…” he clears his throat, “Any plans for today?”

  
Considering how she’d spent the last twenty-two hours, she figured she’d crawl into bed and sleep.

But that sounds lame.

  
“Probably catch up on my studying,” she lies smoothly and feels a sense of relief when the elevator arrives with a ding.

  
She decides to cut him some slack, to be merciful and puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her so she can reach up and kiss his cheek as goodbye.

Except he turns his head too far around and she finds herself kissing his lips.

  
And he’s a _really_ good kisser.

Warmth pools in her belly and she barely remembers to move sideways into what she hopes will be the elevator and not the corridor.

Bellamy’s hands find her waist and lead her backwards until she hits the wall and he breaks away to press little kisses against her neck, while she tangles her hands in his t-shirt and contemplates air-tasking someone to bring them more condoms and lube.

But one thing she’s learnt from one-night stands is it’s better to leave early than to be asked to leave.

Still, it’s hard not to throw caution to the wind when one of Bellamy’s hands reaches up to squeeze her right breast.

  
“You could come back upstairs?” he suggests, breathing heavily against her ear, “Or I could come to yours?”

“I live on campus,” she explains, pushing him away gently, “And I don’t think having you around would be conducive to studying.”

  
She takes a moment to wonder if she used the word conducive right but if she didn’t, Bellamy doesn’t look like he’s gonna pull her up on it.

He’s too busy nipping at her ear lobe while grinding against her and if it wasn’t for the elevator doors opening, she would definitely be letting his hands wander under the t-shirt.

But the high-pitched throat clearing that announces a witness to their make-out session and they break apart quickly, Bellamy spinning around as if he could hide her behind his back.

Which to be fair, he could mostly manage.

  
“Hi…Mrs Kane…” he stammers, “How are your plants going?”

  
From what she can see, Mrs Kane is an elderly woman who is wearing a smug smile on her face as she steps into the elevator,

  
“Very well, thank-you Bellamy and who is your friend?”

  
So, Clarke isn’t getting out of this.

Bellamy makes a surprised sound as if having forgotten that Clarke was there, he steps aside to introduce them, and Clarke knows her cheeks are burning bright red,

  
“Nice to meet you.” She manages and Mrs Kane nods politely,

“Lovely to meet you too, dear, you’re a lucky one, Bellamy is a nice young man.”

  
Bellamy’s cheeks are now burning just as bright as hers and thankfully that moment is when the elevator opens out onto the lobby and the second Mrs Kane steps out, he ushers Clarke along with his hand on her lower back.

She orders an uber on her way out the door and expects him to leave her on the sidewalk, so she’s surprised when he lingers, his thumb rubbing gentle circles through her t-shirt and she wants to lean into his touch.

Being L.A, she doesn’t have to wait long at all for her uber and this time, she is able to kiss his cheek before sliding into the backseat.

  
“I’ll…uh…see you around.” he manages lamely, and she smiles a little too eagerly,

“I’d like that.”

  
She waits until the car rounds the corner before she throws her head back against the headrest groaning at how awkward the goodbye had been. 

She hadn’t even got his number so the chance of getting another round or hell, maybe even a friends- with-benefits situation going wasn’t likely.

All she’d got was one admittedly great marathon of sex.

To be fair, it hadn’t helped that he was neighbours with her estranged step-grandmother.

* * *

  
Text Message   
  
  
_Bellamy: How do I make someone my girlfriend?_

_Miller: Why would you ask us, a Narnia blog this?_

_Bellamy: ????_

_Miller: ?????_

_Bellamy: I need help_

_Miller: With getting a girlfriend_

_Miller: And you chose to ask the guy that’s so gay_

_Miller: He saw your sister in a bikini and only noticed that it matched her eyes._

_Bellamy: How is not being attracted to my sister a unit of measurement for homosexuality?_

_Miller: Have you SEEN your sister?_

_Bellamy: I thought you just said you weren’t attracted to her?_

_Miller: I’m not but I’m not blind._

_Miller: I know nothing about cars, but I know a Porsche from a regular Ford._

_Bellamy: Fine!_

_Bellamy: Pretend that I’m asking for advice to make someone my boyfriend_

_Bellamy: What do I do?_

_Miller: For starters, you ask someone who’s in a relationship._

_Miller: Or google it._

_Miller: Or ask your sister._

_Bellamy: Googling it now._

* * *

“And then what happened?”

“We had sex.”

“And after that?”

“We had sex again.”

  
Lincoln gives her a disappointed look as he gently wrestles her easel from her arms so he can put it away for her. They’d rented them out from the arts department so they could work on their portfolios, but Clarke hadn’t done much more than splatter some paint on a blank canvas and call it an homage to the Abstract Expressionist Movement.

It wasn’t her most productive day, but she was an undergrad, so she figured she had time to kill.

  
“So…” he continues as they pack up, “After the sex, what happened?”

Clarke aims for a casual shrug, “I showered and left.”

  
He waits a beat as if expecting more and when she remains silent, he exhales,

  
“Okay,” he stretches out the word as he strides ahead to hold the door open for a young man struggling with a trolley of books, “That’s it?”

  
Clarke knows she can’t shrug again, especially because she’s carrying her supplies in her arms, so she settles for an upbeat tone.

  
“That’s it? Lincoln, I met and boned my celebrity crush, how is that not a great response to ‘How’ve you been since we talked last?’”

“Since I thought you wanted to stop having one-night stands and find someone to have a relationship with?” he challenged, and she wanted to roll her eyes to cover up the sting of that remark.

“I do,” she swears, “But, you know, nothing wrong with having some fun in the meantime.”

  
She doesn’t look at Lincoln because she doesn’t want to see his eyebrows raised in disapproval.

They’ve only known each other for a year but they’ve become fast friends.

They bonded at a photoshoot where the photographer was creeping on Clarke and Lincoln had absolutely refused to leave until she’d finished, walking her out afterwards and she’d bought him coffee.

Like her, Lincoln modelled to pay the bills, but his passion was working at Dropship where he was trying to set up an art program for the teens. She had encouraged him to apply for a scholarship to attend college and get the necessary qualifications to head up the program. Meanwhile, he had helped her overcome her introversion and imposters syndrome to start tutoring those same teens in high-school Chem and Biology.

Her disappointed mother was technically right, she had needed those classes after all. 

Unfortunately, he was also an optimist who influenced those around him to be their best selves.

Which was a good thing when Clarke was struggling not to believe everything the trolls online were saying about her. Less great when he was holding her to her New Year’s Eve half-drunk declaration.

  
“Maybe you could ask him out?” he finally suggests as they trek across campus, “You’ve already had sex so that expectation is out of the way.”

Clarke scoffs, “Right, I’ll DM him on social media- ‘Hey Bellamy, it’s that easy lay you had sex with after I admitted to having a huge crush on you, even though you could have grabbed my number any time during the day and night we spent together and didn’t, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me? My name is Clarke in case you’ve already forgotten and moved on btw.’”

“Guys don’t forget great sex,” Lincoln rebuts, “And there’s no harm in asking.”

“Humiliation, rejection, potential to have the messages leaked and the world to know what a desperate disaster I am…” she trails off with a meaningful look and he sighs,

“If he’s good enough to come out and support you when you got hate online, I’m willing to bet worst case scenario he’d let you down easy or who knows, maybe he wants to date you?”

“People like him don’t date girl’s like me,” she argues, “Don’t believe me? Find me a non-plus-sized model or actor who wants to be seen in public with me.”

Lincoln scoffed, “Well, this is awkward, but there’s a new clothing line launch happening this Friday, and I’ve been asked to go, and I’m allowed a plus one.”

“Is this a pity invite?” she challenges, and he rolls his eyes,

“No, this is a ‘I have no idea what to do at these things and I need a friend to support me’.” He elaborates and she grins,

“It’s a not date.”

* * *

  
“Come on, you jerk.”

  
Bellamy raised his eyebrows as his sister swanned into his apartment looking like she’d just strolled off a runway.

  
“You speak to all your plus ones like this, O?” he teases, but she only rolls her eyes.

“Of course not, but you’re not a plus one, you’re my brother.”

“The evite said I was a plus one.” He comments, slipping on his shoes and ushering her out the door.

  
Octavia exhaled loudly with a skill he thought she’d lost after she’d stopped being a teenager.

  
“I’m bringing you because I want to use you to network,” she reminded him, “Throw you at the influencers and use the goodwill to build my brand.”

“You’re using me,” he declares good naturedly, “Your own brother.”

“Damn straight.” She replies without even a hint of remorse.

  
He’d been the one to make this suggestion once he’d become well-known enough to actually benefit her through networking. She’d helped build his career and now he’d help build hers.

Still, he hadn’t been expecting much of this launch party, aside from calorie free drinks and teeny, tiny appetisers until Clarke Griffin walked in.

Looking amazing.

On _another_ man’s arm.

He has a moment of anxiety where he worries that this was Clarke’s long-term boyfriend, husband, soulmate or hell, possibly the father of her child and has to calm himself by counting down from ten and taking deep breaths.

Clarke had seemed pretty straight-forward, he’s certain she would have mentioned a boyfriend.

So maybe he was just a guy…that she was here on a date with.

He knew he should have just bitten the bullet and asked O for her number, endured the teasing to ask her out.

But he hadn’t and now he gets to watch her smiling and laughing with an admittedly good looking guy.

Octavia’s making nice with the girl he either just took a photo with or her identical twin, it’s hard to tell, they all look alike but he fetches two cocktails, hands one to her and stands in just a way that the stranger knows to leave.

  
“What’s up?” O asks, turning her back to the party to stand facing him. 

“Dark-skinned guy in the grey shirt,” he mutters, “Do you think he’s hotter than me?” 

“Yes,” she answers, “Next question.”

He gives her a withering stare, “You didn’t even _look!_ ”

“Don’t have to,” she quips, “Objectively speaking I find any man hotter than you, possibly because you are a giant nerd but it might also be the fact that we share DNA, which doesn’t do a whole lot for me to be honest.”

  
If looks could kill, he’d be facing a charge of sororicide right now.

And that he knew the word for murdering one’s sister, and the etymology probably proved her point.

He also knew that if he didn’t elaborate, she wouldn’t take the situation seriously. 

  
“Clarke Griffin just walked in here with a guy,” he explains, and Octavia finally turns around under the pretext of the two of them taking a selfie.

“Blonde in mid-range designer?” she asks through a smile,

“Jesus, do you think I can tell from this distance?” he hisses,

“I told you that you need to get your eyes checked!”

“They’re at the bar toasting each other.” he snaps, and she tilts her head barely an inch.

  
And is silent for a solid, heart-stopping minute.

  
“I mean…I maybe wouldn’t launch a thousand ships over the guy.” she mumbles.

  
Which means Bellamy was right.

He _was_ attractive.

And here with Clarke Griffin.

  
“Do you think he’s her boyfriend?” he worries, and she turns back to him, raising an eyebrow,

“Considering she had sex with you not even two days ago, I hope not.” She points out but he only shrugs and runs a hand through his hair,

“She said she was a fan…what if I’m…what if I was her hall pass?”

Octavia only blinks up at him, “Her what-now?”

“Her hall pass.” he echoes and still sees no comprehension on her face,

“In a relationship some people have a thing where if they meet certain people like celebrity crushes, they can have sex with them, and it’s not considered cheating.”

She stares at him in disbelief, “That’s not a thing.”

“It is.” He insisted.

“It isn’t Bell, you’ve just had bad taste in partners.”

“I…”

“Blakes!”

  
Both of them pause in their bickering to see Miller approaching, “How are we?”

Octavia turns to face him, “Have you ever heard of hall-passes?”

Miller almost misses a step and leans his hand on the table, “Like in school or…”

“Bell reckons they’re a thing in relationships.” She explains and Miller snorts,

“This really something you want your little sister to learn, Bellamy?”

  
Octavia finishes her drink and grabs his, denying him the sweet relief of watered down alcohol.

  
“Bellamy’s future stalking-victim is here,” she announces, and he closes his eyes with a groan, 

“Oh, the one he wants to ask to prom?” Miller teases.

“You’re both fired,” he declares as his sister subtly points her out to Miller with a jerk of her head.

“Huh,” Miller hums, “She’s a Ferrari.”

“A Ferrari?” Octavia echoes while Bellamy wishes he could fall through the floor and hit whatever was underneath them hard enough to lose consciousness for a few days.

“Yeah,” he nods to Bellamy, “I might not be attracted to women, but I know if one’s attractive.”

His sister tilts her head, “If she’s a Ferrari, what am I?”

“A Porsche.”

“You two are being zero help right now!” he groans, and his sister finishes his drink, leaning past Miller to grab her glass.

“Relax,” she drawls, “I’m gonna go help you out right now.”

She looks to Miller, “Keep him here for the next five minutes, use violence if you have to.”

  
And with that she spins on her heel and sashays over to the bar.

While Bellamy takes a moment to regret his mother having decided to have a second child.

* * *

  
“What is hit?” Clarke asks Lincoln as the bartender mixes their drinks, looking down at the business card some guy had shoved into her hand after barely two minutes of conversation before melting away into the crowd.

“HIIT,” he corrects, “And honestly, I have no idea, it’s a thing like matcha lattes and cryotherapy I know it exists but for the life of me…”

“High intensity interval training,” a woman says, appearing at her shoulder, “It’s the latest exercise trend, all the wellness and lifestyle influencers are doing it.”

  
Clarke reflexively turns to face her but takes a moment to respond, this woman is stunning with brunette hair and an intense green gaze that is piercing.

  
“You’re Clarke Griffin,” she continues, no inflection at the end to make it a question, just a statement of fact.

“I am,” she holds out her hand uncertainly, “And you are?”

“Octavia Blake,” she has a firm, almost worrying grip, “Nice to meet you.”

  
Octavia _Blake_?!

Oh God, was Bellamy _married_?

How had she missed this?

Not that she really read up into an actor’s personal life, who had the time or the energy?

Although it would have been nice to know before she slept with him.

God, this was freshman year all over again.

  
“Oh…” she chokes out, forcing her smile to stay on her face, “I didn’t know Bellamy Blake had a wife.”

  
Octavia’s reaction is unexpected, Clarke had been assuming she’d get a drink to her face or a loud, attention catching slap but the gorgeous woman in front of her only throws her head back and laughs.

  
“Ha!” she cackles, “God no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

“I’m his sister.” she finally adds, putting her out of her misery.

  
Clarke tries to hide the epic relief on her face and the slight embarrassment she feels as Bellamy’s sister leans against the bar and orders a drink. It felt a little awkward to be standing next to his sibling when two days ago she’d been hanging off the end of his bed as she’d deepthroated him.

Or was this not a big deal?

Maybe it was an only child thing?

  
“I’m also his agent,” Octavia continues, “I’m the one who lied to you about sending a Dropship rep to meet you.”

  
Clarke knows a networking opportunity when she sees one and looks over her shoulder to begin introducing Lincoln only to find he’d been pulled away by three brunettes, which was a pretty typical thing that happened when they attended events together.

  
“He’s cute,” Octavia comments, sipping on a violently blue cocktail, “How long have you two been dating?”

“Oh,” Clarke shakes her head, “No, we’re just friends.”

“Is he single?” she asks, “With no-one else in the picture?”

  
Clarke turns her face to Octavia and nods,

  
“Good,” she says with a smirk, “I’m taking him back to my place, my brother is upstairs if you’re interested but if you’re not, you can venmo me for your ride home.”

  
Clarke doesn’t really have a response to that, but it doesn’t matter because Octavia is already striding away from her towards Lincoln and with a flick of her hair, she catches his attention and when she holds out her hand, it’s clear the other brunettes could burst into flame and he wouldn’t notice.

Meanwhile she bit her lip to try and hide her excitement as she grabbed another cocktail and headed upstairs.

The party’s filled out since she arrived but a quick survey of the crowd and she spots Bellamy leaning on a table, running his hands through his hair as he listens to another guy talking. She hesitates, worried that she’s about to interrupt something important when he spots her and straightens up, catching her eye and she can hardly make her escape now.

Had he got hotter since she saw him last?

She didn’t think it was possible, but her heart was saying yes.

Her libido too.

He smiles when she approaches and without thinking, she reaches up to greet him with a quick hug and cheek press, holding her drink to the side so she doesn’t spill it on him.

He doesn’t immediately react, and she has a moment of panic that she’s done the wrong thing but then she feels his warm hand press on her back and relaxes.

  
“How are you?” she asks, finally willing herself to pull away with the inane greeting and he beams,

“Good, how have you been?”

  
Since they saw each other forty-eight hours ago?

She doesn’t know how to respond in a way that will keep the conversation going but thankfully she doesn’t have to, they’re interrupted by a throat clearing and she remembers that they aren’t alone.

She turns to face the guy Bellamy had been talking to and waits patiently for introductions.

  
Which are preceded by a long-suffering sigh, “Let me start by saying that I apologise for anything he says, and I would fire him if I could, Clarke this is Miller, Miller…Clarke.”

  
Miller doesn’t seem thrown by Bellamy’s rudeness, only giving her a smirking nod,

  
“Clarke,” he drawls, “Tell me, what’s your favourite luxury car?”

The question throws her slightly and she laughs, “I’ve never thought about it,” she admits, looking to Bellamy, “What’s yours?” she asks,

“Oh, he loves his Ferraris,” Miller comments, snickering, “A real enthusiast.”

Bellamy is glaring at him, “ _Goodbye_ , Nate.”

Miller raises his eyebrows, “Wow, I’m in trouble.”

  
He doesn’t sound the least bit concerned and leaves with a wink and even though she understood little of the conversation, she’s still smiling as Bellamy rests a hand on her back, drawing her attention back to him.

  
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologises, “He’s not great at socialising.”

She chuckled, “He was teasing you, wasn’t he?”

“I love him but he’s an asshole,” Bellamy explained, “He’s the male version of my sister.”

“I met her by the way, she took my friend home with her.”

He shook his head, “I should stop letting them go out in public.”

  
She laughs, enjoying herself and forgetting any potential awkwardness until he drops his head, scratching the back of his neck and she shifts, bracing herself for rejection when he coughs,

  
“I was my sister’s plus one to this and I don’t really know anyone here, you want to bail?”

  
The unusual mixture of relief and lust that flows through her is interesting enough that she has to take a second before she can reply,

  
“Back to yours?” she suggests, and he nods, his eyes darkening as they drop to her breasts,

“But uh…do you want to grab dinner first?”

“Like a date?” she blurts out before she can even think of filtering her words and she can feel her face burning even as he grins,

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Like a date.”

* * *

  
Text Message

_Octavia: Hey, did Clarke get home from the party okay?_

_Octavia: I forgot to grab her number._

_Bellamy: Didn’t you take her date home with you?_

_Octavia: Yeah, but he’s passed out._

_Octavia: Probably won’t be moving for a while._

_Bellamy: I didn’t need to know that_

_Octavia: Seriously, jerk, did Clarke make it home okay?_   
  


* * *

  
Bellamy smirked as he glanced sideways to where Clarke was curled up in his bed, drowsing as he quietly messed about on his phone.

After dinner, he’d managed to control himself as they made their way back to his building, making polite conversation until they were in his apartment and even managing to offer Clarke something to drink.

But then she’d smirked at him, crooked her little finger and he’d found himself pushing her against the nearest wall, kissing her fiercely before shoving her dress up to her waist and dropping to his knees to eat her out. And he’d had a condom in his wallet so when she’d lost her footing and sank to the floor, he’d merely opened her legs wider and fucked her there.

It hadn’t been the best for their backs, but their second round had been in bed.

Okay, technically their third round but the kitchen hadn’t really counted.

* * *

  
Text Message

_Bellamy: She’s at mine._

_Octavia: Gross_

_Bellamy: I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend_

_Octavia: Cool, let me know when you two go public_

* * *

  
Putting his phone on to charge, Bellamy leaned over and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s cheek, causing her to shift slightly and open her eyes,

  
“Another round?” she asked with a yawn, but he shook his head,

“Nah, we should sleep, I was going to ask if you wanted something to sleep in.”

She hummed, closing her eyes as she stretched her legs before she smirked, “I want your Dropship t-shirt.”


End file.
